


impatience is a virtue

by forcefields



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Other, Reader's gender is unspecified, ajajaja, this is kinda short sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcefields/pseuds/forcefields
Summary: you. jacob. your carriage on the train.





	impatience is a virtue

He wanted you pressed between his bed and his body. That much was clear from the side-eyes, the slight upturned curl at the left corner of his mouth when he found himself at one side of the carriage and you at the other. Rooks pulled Jacob away most often - you, on the other hand, despite being of the former ranking, had Evie and Henry’s whole attention the three or four strained hours. You wondered if they knew. You swiftly surmised they more than likely did.

When the third hour dragged into occurrence, a wall clock became the centrepiece within your line of sight. It shivered every single time the train passed a factory by. You longed to shiver, too, beneath him. Your eyes moved to the man of subject – you nearly blushed. His eyes were already on you, who knows for how long a time, gazing over the top of his drink. You did not have to see his smirk. It was visible right there in his irises, composed of two equally excitable sparks, before he swigged whatever remained and demanded yours, Evie and Henry’s company.

You joined him promptly – all three of you, Evie most reluctant. She eyed her twin uncertainly, disapproving rather than believing that was enough to get him drunk. Sat at the bar, Jacob summoned a couple sober Rooks to rouse conversation. Rather, keep his sister and Henry happy whilst he ‘talked’ with you.

Of course, you had sat beside him. That did not help, however, in decreasing the soft shudder under your skin when his closest hand found purchase on your thigh. He whispered huskily, barely appropriate space between his lips and your earlobe. “What say we skip these festivities and have our own private party? My carriage.” You could feel that sly smile of his emerge. “Especially for you.”

You responded chuckling faintly. “Too early.”

“‘Too early’?” he repeated, tone wounded.

“You want everyone’s eyes on us when we abruptly leave, hand-in-hand, to go ‘elsewhere’?” you enquired smilingly, turning your torso to lock his gaze.

“Well,” he answered after minute pause, “we don’t _have_ to be holding hands...”

You rolled your eyes – but you also blushed, and that was bad. That was enough to get him grasping at your inner thigh, massaging the skin between and beneath his fingers. Calloused after years of climbing and rough in how he applied himself, you found it amusing – somewhat - how quickly one hand could get you hot. Lessening in self-control, you closed your eyes, exhaled soft with a smile.

“Don’t.” you whispered, tone betraying message, “Behave.”

“‘ _Don't_ behave’?”

“You know what I meant –”

He hummed, patting your thigh and holding your gaze as soon as your eyes came open, completely indifferent – smirking just to emphasise such. “And I know what you want, so let’s go.”

You gave him such a look, attempting anger but failing and falling into a type of interest only he could rouse. As the little devil smiled, you acknowledged the battle had been far past finished from the moment he desired you.

 

Nearly. You had nearly forgotten how strong his grip was. He held your hips as if he were to never let go, under any circumstances; for the moment, that rang true. Your name escaped his mouth in gasps. Such accompanied hitched moans and whines, for when was Jacob Frye ever one to go about things quietly?

Quieter, of course, you bounced on him, sometimes as if you were unable to stop and sometimes rising high enough to release his length, cut short the moment he was experiencing and catch that irresistible, erotic ire in his eyes. Upon your final try of the latter, he sharply changed your positions. You laughed, short, breathless, and extended your hands to grasp his shoulders. He denied you – took your wrists and pushed them back – lowered his lips but changed his mind at the last moment, leaving you to pull a slight pout he thought precious.

Clearly, Jacob was not falling for it this evening. You were turned onto your stomach, handled by the hips and pulled back, then up, onto your hands and knees. For a second, you held a strong hypothesis on what he had planned. When you looked over your shoulder, however, your theory was crossed out.

Anyone attempting to fulfil the gentlemen’s role would have at least skimmed your inner thigh’s surface with their teeth first; he took a fair circle of skin between his and bit. You found yourself between a gasp and a whine whilst he swiftly – temporarily – reclined to whisper. “You’re going to drive me mad.”

You pushed your face into the quilt beneath. Smiling, you spoke softly, yet loudly enough for Jacob to hear without question. “Good.”

Perhaps you heard him scoff before he pushed his tongue inside. Not that it mattered. You would not think nor recall if such had happened; for a while, this present memory would prioritise itself in your mind. Pressing against his mouth, your brain blanked entirely on suppressing sound and your moans, whines, gasps came loud.

Even more so when he left you, seconds passing before he filled you with his length; both your breathing hitched.

“Jacob,” you struggled to vocalise, as he had already begun to move with bruising pace, “Christ, Jacob…”

 

“Look at you, so desperate for it. Well…” he spoke, somehow not sounding breathless at all, though his volume was low and decreased further when he cursed. “Go on then, love. Come for me.”

You delivered on his word.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i know, i kinda lost momentum towards the end there. (':
> 
> i apologise, and hope you enjoyed it anyway-!


End file.
